


Last Chance For Romance

by Missy



Category: Hairspray (2007)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Fluff, Loss of Virginity, Porn Battle, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-03
Updated: 2011-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-15 08:12:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week before Tracy's set to head to college and toward the future, she and Link finally find time to be alone together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Chance For Romance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XI: Prompt: Hairspray, Link Larkin/Tracy Turnblad, kiss, nip, brush, lick, first

When Tracy feels nervous, she dances. Granted, she also dances when she’s excited, blue, or feeling sick, but when she’s nervous, she shuffles. Link knows her well enough to know the antsy way she’s moving her hips to the beat of the new Sam Cooke record that something’s on her mind.

They finally part when Missus Stubbs changes the records. Sweaty in the small record store, he brings her a glass of punch and they lean against the stands, watching everyone else cut a rug. They’ve been high school graduates for two months, yet nothing seems to have changed in their interactions.

“How’re you doing, sweetheart?” Her knees knock together, and Link worries that she’ll tilt over into the new Supremes records. “Trace, what’s wrong?” She hasn’t looked this nervous since the Miss Hairspray pageant, and back then she’d been in shackles.

“Link…” She crosses her arms against her chest and started dancing again. “My folks are in Cheboygan.”

His eyebrows leap as high as his hair. “How long are they gonna be gone?”

“Until Sunday. “

They both know what that means. Where it was leading them.

“Do you want to?”

She nods. “If you do. I love you.”

It’s, as always, a ladies choice with him. Well, the lady has chosen. He smiles and gives her his arm. “Then lead the way, Little Mama.”

***

He spends fifteen minutes checking his hair in her hand mirror while she gargles in the bathroom. Then, finally, she emerges in a cloud of chiffon, her hair loose and hanging about her waist.

The sight of her makes him break away from himself and face the future she embodies. She smiles and moves toward him.

The kiss tastes like toothpaste and Sen-Sen, and when it breaks apart his expression is intense and serious enough to make her speak up. “Link?”

He takes her hands in his and holds them as she leans into his chest. “Trace….I’ve got something to say. Now, I know you think I’ve had a lot of different girls…”

“…No I don’t,” she says. He felt her hide a smile in his shoulder and poked her.

“I’m telling you the truth, Trace- I’ve never done this before. “

For an instant she looks up into his eyes, staring at him as if she doesn’t believe him, can’t possibly understand his virginity. Then, with that premature wisdom of hers, she takes his hands and leds him to her bed.

He tries not to look at the eight by ten pin-up of himself mounted in a frame just beside the bed as she pushes back his jacket and slid her fingers gently over his shoulders, not even tentative for a moment. The kisses between them stretched out, slow and sweet, and articles of clothing slipped away as if by magic. Her softness wraps itself around him, coddling his flesh, encouraging his touch, begging for completion.

He kisses and licks and strokes every inch of the soft, rolling, endless curve of her body, finding the give of her body appealing and arousing. He rapidly discovers that licking her nipples makes her giggle, that kissing the dark curls between her legs makes her moan. That finding a clitoris was harder than remembering the steps to the citizen’s arrest, but much more rewarding when you got the right rhythm down. That a Tracy Turnblad handjob is a thousand times more satisfying than an Amber Von Tussle handjob. And putting on condom under pressure is a lot harder than he had anticipated.

When Link finally rests between Tracy’s thighs, he’s the one sweating and shaking from nerves. There is a moment of hesitation against a frail barrier, then a tight clasping all around him, a smooth entry. He sees her face screw up in pain, then relax, satisfied. She moans and nips his cheek, bites into his shoulder as he starts awkwardly shifting his hips, stroking his cock through the tight clasp of her sex. Again and again, until he began to speed up without consciously deciding to. He can barely wait, but soon she’s pulsing around him, and he speeds to meet the future, dances over the edge of the earth, and falls into Tracy’s laughing, loving arms.


End file.
